The Beginning of Something
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: Saying 'I love you' changes the dynamics of Sherlock and Molly's relationship.
1. After the Call

MOLLY'S FLAT - KITCHEN

Abruptly the line went dead.

Molly stood there totally stunned for a moment or two. This was quickly replaced by a flash of anger that was enough to snap her out of her stupor.

'Damn him! Damn Sherlock bloody Holmes and his manipulative ways!' And before she could give herself time to think things through clearly she began dialling the detectives mobile number. She was determined to give him a few choice words. And once finished, she would be the one to end the call, leaving him hanging.

"The number you have called has been disconnected." An automated message informed her. "Please check the number and try again."

Molly frowned. That was odd.

So she tried John's number. It began to ring but then went to voicemail.

"Hi, sorry I can't take your call right now. Please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Molly disconnected the call. She then made a third call, this time to Detective Lestrade. To her immense relief Greg answered almost immediately. "Molly."

"Hi Greg. Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if Sherlock and John were with you?"

"No Molly, they're not." There was a tension in the affable detectives tone that put her on edge.

All Molly's anger evaporated to be instantly replaced by concern. "Where are they?"

"I wish I knew," Greg responded warily, before adding. "You know Sherlock's flat was blown up?"

"What! When?"

"Earlier this morning. Apparently Sherlock and John managed to escape by jumping through the windows, while Mycroft got Mrs Hudson out via the front door."

Molly was still getting over the shock of the explosion, while Greg continued.

"But no one has seen or heard anything of Sherlock, John or Mycroft since. They are unofficially listed as missing."

Missing.

And yet, she could still hear Sherlock's voice on the phone not five minutes before.

"Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why?"

"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words."

"Molly, this is for a case. It's... It's a sort of experiment."

"It's very important. I can't say why. But I promise you, it is..."


	2. Analysing the Available Data

MOLLY'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM

After speaking to Greg, Molly spent the rest of that day going over every detail of the phone call. But she wasn't analysing it on how it affected her, but Sherlock.

Looking back now she realised that on some level she had instinctively known something was off. But due to the way she had been feeling before he'd called, and her growing irritation, then hurt and anger as the phone conversation progressed had meant that she hadn't paid the attention she perhaps should have. After all, one could never accuse Sherlock of being backwards about coming forward whenever he wanted something.

And yet as she replayed their conversation in her head, it was now clear he had been anything but his usual confident self.

THE PHONE CALL

"Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why."

The request had been of the Sherlock-type she was used to receiving, yet something was off. His words were carefully measured, and cautious.

And she'd dismissed them as nothing more than a silly game.

"No, it's not a game. I need you to help me."

He was hesitant, each word was chosen with care. This was not the usually self-assured Consulting Detective speaking.

"It's not about that."

Impatience had crept into his tone, but there was more to it than that. He wanted the conversation over as quickly as possible, but not like he would normally, even with her he could be very brusque, when he needed something quickly. Something, or more likely someone else was driving this need to move quickly, like he was under some sort of time restriction.

"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words."

There had been a long pause, or hesitation. Long enough that she had to remind him that she was still waiting to learn what it was he needed from her. When finally he had spoken, the words were again spoken with care.

"I love you."

The request when it came was delivered in an almost Sherlock-like way. Each word said clearly and precisely.

"Molly, no please, no! Don't hang up! Do not hang up!"

His response is immediate. Every word is driven by one overriding emotion – panic.

"Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me."

He speaks softly, trying to appear calm and reassuring.

"Molly, this is for a case. It's...it's a sort of experiment."

Again his tone is cautious, and he tries to choose his words with care, but he miscalculates.

"No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend, we're friends. But, please, just say those words for me."

There is a clear realisation of his poor choice of words. But though he speaks softly, there is an undertone of desperation in his voice.

"It's very important. I can't say why. But I promise you it is."

The tone is now one of cajoling, though the undertone of desperation remains.

"Of course you can. Why can't you?" / "No, I don't know why."

The emotions here are clear, confusion, and a growing sense of desperation.

"Please, just say it." / "Why?"

His desperation makes him impatient. He has no comprehension of how much saying those words will cost her.

"Well, if it's true, just say it anyway." / "Say it anyway."

Or maybe he does. He needs to hear her say those words aloud so it forces him to appear cruel. If making her angry will get her to say the words, then so be it.

"What?"

He is taken aback, and confused by her unexpected condition.

"I... I love you."

He's hesitant, trying to ensure that he sounds genuine. But once the words are out of his mouth, there is a moment of realisation.

"I love you."

He says the words again, this time for real.

"Molly? Molly, please!"

He becomes truly panicked, his emotions driven by genuine fear, and in his desperation he comes as close as he ever has to begging.

And no sooner were the words out of her mouth, then abruptly the line went dead.

MOLLY'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM

A growing realisation in the pit of her stomach had her legs almost giving way, as she stumbled towards her sofa, and collapsed down on it.

Sherlock was being forced, under some considerable duress to make her say those words.

The question was why.

And then a chill ran down her spine as Molly recalled Greg's words.

"But no one has seen or heard anything of Sherlock, John or Mycroft since. They are unofficially listed as missing."

Were their lives under threat if she hadn't said the words?

And had her condition, that he spoke the words first, like he meant them, also put them in further danger?

Tears of anguish and regret began streaming down her face as multiple unpleasant scenarios began forming in her mind.

And her overriding thought was.

'What have I done?'


	3. Revelations

MOLLY'S FLAT – BEDROOM

After a restless night tossing and turning, Molly woke to find herself cradled securely in Sherlock's arms. Her head and upper body pressed to his chest as he lay reclined against her bed-head.

They stayed as they were for several minutes, neither willing to disturb the comfortable silence. But the elephant in the room could not be ignored, or put off forever.

Reluctantly Molly made to move to get off the bed. But Sherlock had other ideas, surprising her by pulling her back to him, and placing her so that she now sat across his lap.

His need to keep her close an indication of a profound change to his usual contemptuous and dismissive assertions regarding sentiment as being nothing more than 'a chemical defect found on the losing side', had clearly undergone a thorough and radical re-evaluation.

Molly remained silent as she contemplated this change in Sherlock when she caught sight of the state of his hands.

"Oh my God Sherlock, what happened to your hands?" she cried, taking them in her own one at a time to examine them more closely. "Who did this to you?"

"I did," he replied, remaining compliant throughout her examination.

"What! Why?"

Sherlock remained silent, his gaze focussed on their now interlaced fingers.

"Why would you do this to yourself?" she asked softly. And then a chill raced up and down her spine. "Are John and Mycroft safe?"

Sherlock raised their entwined hands and placed a kiss to the back of her hand.

"They're alive and safe," he assured her, wrapping his arms around her once again, as he explained. "I tore a coffin meant for you apart with my bare hands."

As Molly's body tensed in realisation, he placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"If I hadn't said..."

"Yes."

"How?" asked with no hesitation.

Sherlock smiled, his brave Molly. Determined to know the worst up front, no matter the cost come what may. "She said she had your flat rigged to explode in approximately three minutes."

"She?" the curiosity was clear.

"My sister, Eurus," he responded.

Molly pulled back so that she could look up at him. "You have a sister?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I have an era-defining genius, psychopathic sister."

Sherlock then went on to explain in minute detail all that he had learned, and all that he, John and Mycroft had been put through in the last 36 hours.

When his narrative ended Molly remained silent, deep in thought as she went over everything he had just told her.

"Molly?" Sherlock's concerned voice penetrated, but it was only when she felt his fingers gently wiping away her tears that she realised she'd been crying.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock," she said, her expression one of complete contrition

"What for?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"That I made you say the words first. I knew something wasn't right the moment you spoke, but I'd had a bad day, an autopsy on a toddler Rosie's age."

Immediately Sherlock pulled her in close.

"It was only after I'd spoken with Greg and found out what happened to your flat, and that you, John and Mycroft were all missing, that I re-evaluated our conversation, and realised you were being forced to do so. Though at the time I thought you were doing it to save John or Mycroft, and I felt so awful.'

She paused to take a deep breath. "So I am so sorry for making you say those words to me."

"I'm not," Sherlock's reply surprised her.

"You're...not."

"Nope," he assured her, popping the p in his usual infuriating way, a grin forming on his cupids bow lips.

"And why is that?" Molly asked.

Sherlock's expression became serious as he lent down resting his forehead against Molly's so that they were looking deep into each other's eyes.

"I do love you. I think I have for quite awhile. Being forced to say it aloud released something inside me, made me acknowledge despite my best efforts to convince myself otherwise, I do in fact possess a heart. And it belongs to you, always has and always will."

Molly's heart fluttered happily at his declaration.

"Well," she responded, smiling cheekily. "That being the case, I have a request."

"Name it."

"Could we dispense with the dating stage and go straight to shagging?"

The old Sherlock would have been horrified at the very notion. But he was no longer that man. "I do so love the way you think Molly Hooper." And to reinforce his point, Sherlock carefully but with determined purpose rolled them both over so that Molly now lay underneath him. "So if I were to suggest that the shagging started this very minute. What would you say?"

Molly's response was to reach up and begin undoing the button of his shirt...


End file.
